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SURE never yet was Antelope
Could skip so lightly by.
Will hit you in the eye.
How fairy-like you fly!
I hate that silly sigh.
Or tell me how to die.
And hang yourself thereby.
Move eastward, happy earth, and leave
Yon orange sunset waning slow: From fringes of the faded eve,
O, happy planet, eastward go ; Till over thy dark shoulder glow
Thy silver sister-world, and rise
To glass herself in dewy eyes
Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne,
Dip forward under starry light, And move me to my marriage-morn,
And round again to happy night.
BREAK, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay !
And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill ; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still !
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
THE POET'S SONG.
The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He pass’d by the town, and out of the street ; A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the bee,
The snake slipt under a spray, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,